Shadows and Windy Places
by TheBlueCarbuncle
Summary: A James/Lily fic, because I've always wanted to write one. Hopefully less fluffy and more readable than stuff I usually write. R&R!


Well, guess what I found? Yes, my old FF account. I've always wanted to write a James/Lily fic, but was afraid I wouldn't be able to finish or something. Anyway, I've decided to start putting things up here again, after a veerrrryyyy long time, so please review and let me know how I'm doing! I'm doing this partly to improve my writing skills as well, so all general/style/grammar critiques are also welcome! ~^-^

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Chapter 1.

Where on Earth was McGonagall? He had been waiting by her door for almost half an hour now. She had told him she would be here. Either she was inside, ignoring his constant knocking, or she had some sudden engagement to attend to. It mattered little to James _where_ exactly she was, because where he needed her to be was precisely where she wasn't--here, outside her office, attending to his problem.

James took another long look down the corridor, but it was just as empty as it had been a minute ago. He needed urgently to speak to her about the quidditch practice schedule. The pitch had been double-booked for both the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw quidditch team practices--an oversight James wanted corrected immediately, if not sooner. It was imperative that his team be able to train properly this season; it was his last of several memorable years as team captain, and he had every desire to leave his legacy intact.

His teammates would have liked to pound him for making them practice in this stormy winter weather. But of course, they restrained themselves--not only out of fear, but out of a sense of respect, and trust. They loved him as their captain, and they knew that he always did what was best for the team. They trusted his leadership, and he trusted in their loyalty.

With one last bang on the door, and the long stretch of silence that followed, James gave up hope of finding McGonagall that night. He turned slowly into the corridor, walking absent-mindedly as he alternately fumed and tried to figure out what he would do about the pitch. He had sent in the Gryffindor schedule _weeks_ in advance, he was sure the Ravenclaw captain had meddled with it. He was still sore about the way Gryffindor had annihilated his team in last year's Cup Final. Such a moronic, idiotic, low-life, bast--

"Watch it!"

"I'm so sorry!" The words were out before he knew who he was apologizing to--or even fully realized that he had just nearly knocked a fellow student over.

He bent down to help her pick up her books when he suddenly froze in recognition and snapped back up almost right away.

"What do you think you're doing?" spat Lily Evans, scooping her belongings back into her arms with a wave of her wand. "Is your eyesight going the way of your intelligence as well?"

"I didn't see you there. Sorry."

"Well, _next_ time, make sure you do!" She graced him with one last glare as she marched past.

"What're you doing out here this late, anyway?" He knew it was against his better judgment to ask, but he wasn't going to let Lily talk to him like that and walk away.

"Some of us have work to do, Potter." He cringed inwardly at the sound of his name.

"Huh, well, good luck with that." He nodded a goodbye and turned back towards the Gryffindor dormitories.

He knew how irritated she would be that he hadn't let her leave him on her terms. He smiled at the thought, but even as he did, he felt a strange desperation inside him, hoping that she _was_ watching his retreating back, that she _was _glaring at him, that she _was_ angry with him. That she cared enough to be annoyed. And even as he did, a yet more desperate voice, deeper inside, told him that she hadn't given him a second glance, that she was in the library by now, head buried inside some book, all thoughts of him purged from her mind.

He could hardly think about Michael Ves and his dastardly, Ravenclaw cunning now. Whatever that boy had done to try to mess with Gryffindor's practice, James would deal him straight soon enough. He would figure out a plan in the morning, perhaps with Sirius' inspiration and Remus' careful insight. Tonight, however, he felt suddenly too tired for any creative plotting.

He climbed into bed, thinking only of one small scowl, lighting up a certain very pretty face.


End file.
